


Mixed blessings

by alinewrites



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-14
Updated: 2012-04-14
Packaged: 2017-11-03 15:45:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/383138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alinewrites/pseuds/alinewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The victory is within reach -and Avon dies. Or does he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mixed blessings

Blake looked for Avon all over the battlefield, heart pounding with a feeling of impending doom. How could victory taste so bitter? How could he feel so desperate when all he'd ever fought for was happening in front of him? The end of the Federation? Where was the overwhelming joy he'd anticipated gone?

And when it became obvious that Avon wasn't outside, Blake decided to search the bunker.

Friends, companions were trying to hold him back, keep him away from the crumbling bunker. 

"Don't go, Blake," Vila said in his anguished tone, eyes serious "the whole building will collapse in no time."

Like hell he wouldn't go! He shook the hands off him and rushed inside, alone, walked down the stairs, stepping over dead bodies piled up everywhere, friends, enemies, entangled in the anonymity of death. At the bottom of the stairs a hand grabbed his ankle and a voice thick with pain moaned, begging for death so Blake drew his weapon and shot.

There was no point in letting a man suffer that much, no matter who he was, no matter who he'd fought for. The sound of the shot echoed in the maze of the corridors, bouncing from wall to wall, lingering even after he'd reached the second sub-level, deep into the dark bowels of the place, a place wich had been, only hours ago, the heart of the Federation.

At the end of the last passage, in the dim light of the emergency system, Blake saw a flicker of light upon silver, the barrel of a drawn gun, and made out a dark form crouched in a corner.

"Avon," he shouted and ran.

Stupid, that, when you knew Avon like he did, not to mention potentially deadly -but this time Avon didn't shoot, only let go of the gun that seemed to slip from his fingers.

"Avon," Blake said again, breathless, kneeling beside him "I'm going to call for help; we'll take you out of here and you'll be fine."

Something sad and very akin to pity, maybe a touch of annoyance too, showed in Avon's pain-darkened eyes. They met Blake's and Avon said in a strained voice "I don't think so, Blake."

Taking his hand off his belly, fingers sticky with blood, Avon allowed Blake to see the wound for a couple of second. Torn out flesh, vital organs exposed, blood soaking Avon's clothes.

Blake swallowed hard. Back on the Liberator maybe, in those long gone days of what looked a lot, from here, like innocence, he might have saved Avon. But the medical resources here were very limited and even if he managed to carry Avon out of here…

A loud creaking startled him; he raised his eyes and saw the metallic beams bending slowly above them, giving way. Avon looked up too and back at Blake again.

"Go away, Blake," he said urgently.  
"No. I didn't take you this far only to abandon you now."

For a fleeting second, Gan's memory lingered between them. Avon sighed.

"Blake. Don't. They need you…"  
"Anyone else will do."

The frown on Blake's forehead, the stubborn crease between his eyebrows…. Avon's eyes flashed with exasperation.

"You know it's not true, Blake. Your… rabble needs you. The revolution needs you. And your dying here won't bring back the dead. Just go away."

Blake shook his head, blinking back the tears.

"No. I'm not leaving you here."

Avon let his head fall back and gave an exasperated sigh. A sudden flash of pain followed by the kind of extreme weakness that precedes death quelled his anger. He raised a trembling hand and grabbed Blake's graying curls.

"You have no more brains than Vila, do you? You mulish maudlin idiot." A rivulet of blood came trickling down his chin and Blake wiped it off with his fingers. Leaning closer, he gathered a trembling Avon in his arms and held him.

"I'm taking you out of here," he said, moving swiftly, wanting Avon to have a glorious sunset as a last vision and not the dark grey walls of an enemy base.

Avon yelled in pain, suddenly pale as death, a bout of coughing bringing more blood to the corner of his lips… Horror stricken, Blake lowered Avon back to the ground, watching him, stroking his hair, calling him and eventually Avon opened his eyes, dark, pupils dilated to the extreme.

"Do you think," Avon asked in an angry painful murmur "that you could avoid making it worse? Or is it too much to ask already since you seem… to have made up your mind… About inflicting as much pain on me as possible?"

"Avon…"

"Blake. I'm dying. I'm not happy about it but there's nothing any of us can do… Listen… I want you to listen to me."

Blake kneeled over Avon, straddling him, cradling the back of Avon's head against one palm, the fingers of his other hand stroking the livid face.

Something crumbled above them and Avon's grip on Blake's hair tightened.

"Tell Vila," Avon said "I liked him. Tell him I was absolutely wrong. He'll know what I mean. And… Blake… I have an account in a safe bank on Freedom city, Vila knows about it. Ask him. Take the money; you'll need it for whatever your glorious cause will require." 

Blake's face bore no sign of understanding and Avon shook him slightly "Blake," he said "are you listening to me?"

"Yes, Avon. Yes, I am."

Avon sighed painfully but seemed to relax.

"Don't let them...corrupt you. Use you. Change you. Remember what power does to men, Blake. Promise me you'll remember."

Blake rested his lips against Avon's ear, feeling the wave of nausea and pain shake Avon's body.

"I'll remember, Avon."  
"Now, finish it, Blake."

He couldn't do that. Whatever he told himself -that Avon was suffering agonies, that killing him would be a gesture of *love*… That he'd done it just a moment ago…

"I can't."

He looked away and heard Avon's sharp intake of breath.

"I'd do it myself but I won't have the strength, Blake. Finish it, please. Do I have to beg?"

Blake looked down, saw Avon's face twisted with pain, Avon's hand clenching his spasmodically, his dilated pupils that showed so much about hurting and not being able to deal with agony. And the blood. The wide open horrendous wound.

Swallowing back a sob he felt around for Avon's weapon -it suddenly seemed to weigh tons.

"Good bye, Roj Blake," Avon said, closing his eyes "You won your war after all."

Blake rested his mouth against Avon's lips, wanting to capture the last breaths that would come out of it and pressed the barrel against Avon's temple.

He would've said something, anything, but words were failing him. He thought that Avon probably knew all of it… When he pressed the trigger Avon's head jerked back and his body went limp in his arms.

Blake collapsed across Avon's motionless chest, frozen with a pain so strong he couldn't even find the will to move, not even when the ceiling began crumbling around him, pieces of concrete half-knocking him out.

He thought he could still hear Avon's voice. Go away, Blake. Now.

"Not without you!" 

With tremendous efforts, he tried to lift the dead body but a girder fell just inches from him over Avon's thighs and he yelled in frustration. 

"No! NO!"

Go away, Blake. They need you. I don't.

So he ran, the impossible voice following him, tears rolling down his face. He ran and yelled at the impassive stones falling around him, at a fate so cruel…

"Blake!"

He was outside. The sky was dark; someone was holding him, hugging him, shaking him. 

Vila.

"Did you find him?"

Blake wanted to answer but darkness swallowed him.

*************

They left three days later with a Federation shuttle to reach Earth's main base.

Blake insisted on visiting one last time Avon's apocalyptic grave. Alone. He stood there for a while, staring at the ruins, trying to imagine what was happening to Avon's body underneath. And failing.

He was turning away, shaking, when he heard it.

An unexpected angry hissing sound. Turning back he saw something tiny trying to claw a path through the pile of rubble. Something black and small and mewling, lithe and dusty.

Blake didn't know much about animals but this… this was a cat. A small one.

"All life must have reverence," the other Roj had said before the Federation'd had Rachel tortured and killed. Before Avon shot him down.

All life. 

He came closer and leaned forward to grab the animal. The hiss grew louder, pathetically so, considering how small the thing was. The sharp claws and teeth tore at his wrists, making Blake growl; he shook the cat -a kitten, actually - holding it by the scruff of its neck, staring at it sternly and meeting an angry yellow stare.

"All right, my friend. You can't stay here on your own. Nothing alive should be sentenced to that."

Shoving the animal inside his jacket he started to walk back. After a while the cat stopped moving, fell asleep in Blake's warmth and scent. Exhausted, perhaps.

The shuttle had taken off already when a tiny black muzzle peaked out of the opening of Blake's jacket.

Vila looked at it in amazement and frowned at Blake.

"What the hell?" He asked, and grabbed the kitten, lifting it to the light and meeting the same angry gaze, silvery glitters shining all over the black lustrous coat.

"It's a cat! Where did you find it?"  
"It was clawing its way out of the bunker."

Blake still had that raucous voice, like something had caught in his throat that he couldn't get rid of.

"A kitten that size lived through the whole apocalypse? Must be a heck of a survivor, this one!" Vila said.

The kitten wriggled free and strolled away with affronted dignity, settling on a console a little away from Blake, licking its coat clean, its back on its human companions.

Vila looked at the cat for a moment, uneasy with something he couldn't quite define, then at Blake's distraught expression, his heart catching in his throat.

"Strange cat you got there, Blake," he said gruffly, shrugging the strange feeling away, "good luck with it."

Blake, caught up in his grief, didn't seem to register and Vila didn't insist.

After a while, when the men's attention had turned back to the flight plans, the kitten jumped unnoticed on Blake's knees, curled up into a small ball and started purring. Vila saw Blake's big fingers come to stroke the dark fur lightly, his hand covering the kitten entirely. Through half-shut lids, a yellow gaze met Vila's eyes and for a split second Vila thought he could read something in it.

_You didn't really believe that I would abandon him now, Vila, did you?_

"You're losing it, Restal," Vila whispered to himself, and looked away.

**********************

Years later, Blake's wife, Jenna, developed an allergy to cats and Blake had to make the heartbreaking choice.

Sitting on the bed in their -his- bedroom, he shrugged and growled.

"You know, everyone will think I'm crazy."

Something warm nuzzled at his hand. Stretching against him, the big, yellow eyed, fierce and haughty black cat started purring, staring at him with undisguised amusement.


End file.
